Friday, November 25, 2011

School Trauma

I am one of the lucky (or unlucky) few who got to study at two completely different schools for the exact half of my school life. I did my kindergarten to grade three and my high school (grade 11 and grade 12) in IIIS and my grade 4 to grade 10 in OOEHS. I am taking a great risk in writing this post since I have no intention in praising my school. Rather I am planning on bitching about it and help free my out cry for freedom in the school grounds. 








IIIS is school divided into three sections- Boys and Girls. Boys are haraam (forbidden) for girls- according to the school authorities. Though both the sections are situated in the same compound, we are ordered to treat the Boys section as a different world of forbidden fruits (LOL).  If any girl is caught looking outside the window to the common ground, she will be summoned to the Head Mistress' (Lets call her Lady H) office and asked to explain why she had looked outside. Ok. I was exaggerating a bit. but 3/4th of it is true. Being brought up in a co-ed school for 7 years, I have a lot of friends who are boys and completely staying away from them and not talking to them was weird for me when I joined IIIS. But survival skills did kick in and I adjusted. Its been nearly 6 months since I actually spoke to a boy. Not a big deal. But its still weird. 






Facebook is another forbidden subject in IIIS. When I was in grade XI, the Lady H summoned the whole class  of 26 students to the front of her office and asked us to stand in two separate groups of Facebookers and non Facebookers. Of course the non Facebookers were very less in comparison to the criminal group of Facebookers. At that time, I was an avid FB user though I wasn't an addict. Lady H turned her attention to us and asked us what we use FB for. Now there is a silently know rule that you are not allowed to answer Lady H when she asks you something when she is angry. That is because the questions she asks when she is angry are usually rhetorical questions which require no answers. She did not exactly tell us to delete our accounts from FB.. but she did reach very close to it. She raised her voice at us and asked us how many boys we keep in contact with online. She wanted to know what we spoke about and why we spoke about it. Her face turned into a scowl when she said that she knew we all chatted with many boys of the same school. He voice was filled with disgust at what we teenagers did. After an hour long of constant Blah Blah Blahs... we were asked to return to class and never speak about Facebook ever again in the school premises. To date, I don't know what had caused this up rise of events though I strongly believe its those spies in the class. Spies... That's another story! 




Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I Shall





I shall pare a rose from my heart
And bleed to give it colour

I shall mold the linings of the clouds
To dance an anklet on your ankles

I shall fetch the cuckoos from the heavens
To sing for you to appease your ears

I shall slash my skin and make a hide
To warm you through your plights

I shall give you my eyes eternally to stay
So that you see how stunning you are

I shall brawl the battle of the worlds
To prove to you that I am stanch

I shall rest my head on the trails
If you assure me your smile

I shall swim the seven fatal seas
And mount the seven lethal hills

I shall live forever to shield you
Or die to grant your desire

I shall do what no one may
If your shall promise to be my bride

Sunday, November 13, 2011

The Anonymous "Thing"

The urge to write this post has been running wildly in me for a long time. Since I turned 17 last month, I finally got the closure I needed to write this post. My weird school keeps special classes for us XIIth graders on Fridays. It is weird because Friday is the only common public holiday for everyone in the UAE. I am forced to wake up at 5:30 AM and catch the running bus at 6:15 AM. The morning is usually very cold and boring and the roads are almost empty. I often see a Pathan (Pakistani male) lurking here and there. For so long have I hoped for something interesting to happen that one day something did happen. But let me point it out to you, as my post titles gives the surprise away, it wasn't interesting. It was exactly the opposite. 


The public road cleaner comes around at 6:30 AM every day to pick up the trash littered around. Since I had to board the bus at 6:15 AM on Fridays, the road used to be always littered. This particular day, instead of the usual garbage, the pavement on the side of the building ground was clean. That is, except for a god-awful, pink coloured, unfamiliar "thing" on the side. Yes, trust me, it was unfamiliar for me. As disgusting as it looked, curiosity got the better of me and I moved in for a quick look. There, on the path, was a thing i have only seen in my science textbook (My generation is blessed with sex education... haha )... A condom. It was repulsive and I gagged. Every week since then, I  used to see this on the pavement. Still feeling repulsed, I started closing my eyes and walking thereon. Not a good idea, I later understood, when I bumped into that lurking Pathan one day. 


Believe it or not, this is not a usual sight for people in a Muslim country. Or any country I suppose. I decided to take a different route to the bus stop. Friday came and I reluctantly walked through the other side. It was along way and I wasn't happy. This thought just popped into my mind all of a sudden. "I wanna know if that man got banged last night." And yes my friends... I walked back to that path and as if waiting for me, it was lying over there. Since then, I overcame the "problem" of the situation and every time I see it on the pavement, I know that someone got lucky last night. 


As the song in "How I Met Your Mother" goes... 
I Say Bang Bang Bangitty Bang ... I Said Bang Bang Bangitty Bang 
... Always wanted to sing it out loud!  

Saturday, November 12, 2011

A Million Heartbreaks

Every girl dreams about the day she would get married to her prince charming. He is always this very handsome, very charming and absolutely irresistible guy that was sure to break a few million hearts on the wedding day. Since the day I came to know about weddings and love, I had this bad instinct that I wouldn't have a prince charming. Or at least he wouldn't be "charming". Therefore I used to asses the guys I met on the basis of looks, style, taste, family, orientation, and where he lives. You see, we South Indians don't have love marriages. Its is usually slightly frowned upon. The parents of the girl find a groom that they find suitable and presents him in front of her. She has the final say to reject him or take him. While looking for a groom, the parents check on whether he is friendly, educated, highly positioned, non alcoholic, non smoker, non druggy (?!) and whether his house is near by. They look for convenience and most of all, a good family and bright future for their little girl. As a teenager, I started checking out guys 4 years or so elder than me, just to make sure there were good enough men left for me to get married to. Two guys seemed to top my list. Let's call them Moron and Dumbass. Dumbass is another story, another time. 

Moron... Oh that boy had a way with girls. He was handsome, adorable, a mommy's boy and very well behaved guy. He was my sister's classmate during her college years. That is how I first met him. I knew, from the first week of knowing him and hearing a lot about him from my sister, that he would top my list of "Men I Want To Marry". He stayed nearby (somewhat) in my homeland. Oh how I believed that he would be the man for me. Not before long, he stabbed me with a virtual fork by tagging me as his "sister". That was that for a long time. But I believed that someday, I would get the nerve to confront him and somehow or the other, get him in my house. 

Two days back, I received a heartbreaking and shocking message. Moron, the guy that I so longed for, was getting engaged. He was only 21 years old! As insane as it sounded, it was true. That was the heartbreaking message. The shocking message came after. He was getting engaged to my childhood friend, BigMouth. I was helpless. When she called to tell me that she was getting engaged to my sister's friend, I just smiled and let it slide. The only humor I could find out of the situation was that once long back, BigMouth had bitched to me about this guy in her school that was a huge flirt. She told me she hated that guy. I laughed on recalling the thought, because she was ultimately getting engaged to the same guy that she once bitched about. 


My heart was broken when the ever single and hot guy became engaged. I knew, from the list of "congratulations" on his Facebook wall from a million girls, that a million hearts were broken too